


Dawn Watch With Coffee and Turnovers

by paxnirvana



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Differing priorities; similar goals. Ah, the life of a lazy swordsman on the Going Merry.</p><p>Pre-Alabasta setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn Watch With Coffee and Turnovers

Zoro jerked his nodding head up and blinked sleepily at a deep blue, star-shot sky that was finally beginning to lighten with the first faint touches of dawn. No sun yet, but soon, that glow promised… along with what would probably be another scorchingly hot day.

The sea rolled in long, slow swells with the ship, placid and calm; a following sea to match the following wind. Which meant the air on deck was deceptively still even though the sails were belled out full and tight, their progress steady. They weather had been like this for the past two days, since they had left the influence of eternally-winter Drum Island, and Nami hadn't mentioned any sign of it breaking yet. It was good for traveling, but hard on the crew. The Going Merry devoured the miles with easy grace, with little but open ocean and sun-glare to see as far as the faintly misty horizon and nary a ship-devouring monster to break the tedium in sight.

So much for the constant danger of the Grand Line. Zoro sighed and let his eyes slip closed again, brain moving sluggishly toward wakefulness. No danger, no real reason to be active until his watch ended. His thoughts drifted.

They'd partied hard when they departed Drum Island, staying awake long into the night that first night out of port, getting drunk on generously donated rum and stuffing themselves on the most perishable of the foods given to them by the grateful villagers. For the battle won. A country restored. A dying man's dream realized.

So with their wounds patched and mending, and a new member added to their crew, Zoro had actually let himself enjoy the victory for once, downing more alcohol than usual even for him. Until the frigid night had become an odd blur of memory and sensation; including such strange images as a pole-dancing Luffy [thankfully clothed], an aria-singing duck, the swing of Vivi's hair like a pale blue waterfall across the shoulder of the cook's black jacket as they danced some intricate and idiotic formal dance together without music, and Usopp's tearfully repeated – at the top of his lungs – vows to improve his bravery next time. Right. Sure.

At some point he'd got into an argument with Nami over something to do with freezing water, Zoro vaguely remembered. And, later, argued with the shitty cook about something equally pointless as well – Nami's honor, most likely – both of them spitting venom and fire right in each other's faces. Then he remembered smoke in his throat. Cool but competent hands on hot flesh. Liquid heat. A bone-deep relief.

He had finally awakened sometime late that next morning sprawled flat in the middle of the snow-dusted deck, clothes askew, flesh sticky, with the taste of ash and bile on his tongue and a headache the size of the ship threatening to split his skull open from the inside. He'd spent the rest of the day listening to Luffy and Chopper and Usopp puke their guts out over the stern rail while he dove back into his training routine with single-minded intensity. Lifting weights until the sweat poured off him like a river, and the last remnants of alcoholic excess were burned away.

That next day had been fairly quiet and peaceful. Well, as quiet as a snow-covered ship with Monkey D. Luffy aboard could be. Then they'd left the range of Drum Island's weather and entered the unpredictable zone. However, after only a single day of hard sailing through rough seas the following wind had sprung up and the sea had flattened around them, Nami had smiled contentedly over their course and peaceful tranquility had settled over the ship. Which was good for a change, as most of them still had wounds that needed healing after the events on Drum Island too.

Of course, Luffy recovered faster than anyone and tranquility had quickly disappeared from the ship. And soon, Vivi was fretting over the fate of her country, suffering pangs of concern and proposing endless plans and plots that were useless to solidify until they got closer and found out more on the situation. A still-recovering Nami spent most of her time constructing her charts and muttering direly about the navigational impossibilities of the Grand Line and the proper notations for same. Usopp cornered the newest member of their crew, Chopper, at every chance and proceeded to expound at length about living with pride and honor in the Elubaf Way to the reindeer-doctor, who looked both horrified and bewildered at the vastly embellished tales Usopp was spinning of his (their) 'heroic' adventures on Little Garden.

Luffy had taken to hanging off the back of the ship by his arms, feet dangling in the sea. Maybe acting as bait in hopes of attracting something to fight, Zoro supposed. It didn’t work. Chopper had made himself and his doctor's things at home in a corner of the men's quarters, while the stupid chef stayed hidden in his galley and baked like a driven fool – cookies, pies, breads and even fancy cakes. The cook's excess appeased Usopp, Chopper and Luffy, at least a little, whenever Vivi's tension of reaching their goal in Alabasta in time began to creep high, affecting them all, but that was about it. But the baking was something to do, he supposed, vaguely annoyed. But pretty pointless. Luffy was always hungry, after all.

As for him, he'd been dead-lifting the main anchor as training until Nami told him to stop because the regular shifting of balance across the ship's keel was throwing them off course. He'd gone back to using his regular weights grudgingly. But as the wind was still perfect, the Log Pose to Alabasta showed them exactly on track, and they couldn't make Going Merry move any faster than she already was; there was nothing any of them could do except wait. Between Nami and Vivi, the word was there were at least five more days at sea before they reached the waters of the island that held her home.

Five more days of nothing. He let his mouth curve slightly. Luffy, as usual, was already complaining about the lack of fresh meat. Funny how the cook had had little to say about that...

Actually, they were all starting to act a little odd, Zoro mused to himself, eyes drifting slowly open to stare across the deck at nothing in particular. Well, odder than usual, anyway. The idiot cook in particular. Come to think of it, it had been nearly a full day since he'd even seen the damn chef up on deck. Oh, he'd heard him crooning like a love-sick fool to Vivi and Nami in the mess, found the covered dishes left out near the mast for himself every day as he worked out through mealtimes, and caught the occasional stray whiff of cigarette smoke, but that was it. No afternoon iced tea pressed on everyone whether they wanted it or not. No stupid black jacket in the full sun. No ridiculously curled brow glimpsed through worn-gold colored hair while the other smoked and stared out toward the distant horizon from the forward rail...

Damn. The chef was not acting right at all. And it was really starting to piss him off.

Going Merry ghosted across the brightening sea in near silence, the only sound the hushed break of waves along the bow that he could hear from his watch-post near Nami's mikan trees and the rocking creak of the rigging above. With the wind still as steady as it had been for the past three days, Zoro sat on the upper deck against the railing on the starboard side and ignored the sea, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest, and tried to convince himself to doze the last of his watch away.

In truth he was listening for the first sounds from the galley below. Not that he really felt like admitting that.

The top of the sun had just broken horizon when he heard it; the clatter of a kettle followed by the musical clink of delicate china. The distinctive, light sound that came from that ridiculous set of paper-thin, flower-covered cups that the idiot cook insisted only Nami and Vivi were allowed to use, he supposed. Frowning, Zoro climbed to his feet and took a deep breath of morning air. Filled his lungs with the salty cool of it. Then he padded silently across the deck toward the stairs, boots abandoned. The planks were still chill and damp beneath his toes from the night just past; by noon-time they would be blisteringly hot and almost impossible to walk on unprotected.

When he reached the stairs, he paused and leaned out over the railing, looking down the side of the ship toward the galley portholes. It took only an instant to spot the tell-tale trail of smoke coming from the stove vent and catch the scent of freshly brewed coffee as well as something yeasty and bread-like that was likely another uselessly elaborate pastry in the making.

His stomach rumbled loudly. With a grimace, he descended the stairs to the main deck. Then turned and pushed through the mess hall door, eyes blinking at the change from cool pre-sunlight to bright lamp-lit glow.

"Oi. Gimmie some coffee, cook," he said gruffly, closing the door quietly behind himself.

On the far side of the room, the soft clatter and scrape of food-making stopped abruptly as the lean back of the room's only other occupant slowly stiffened. For once, Zoro was surprised to realize, there was no cigarette dangling anywhere around the other man, but there were two crushed butts already lying in the saucer on the main table behind him he noted. The black coat with its bright gold buttons hung over the back of one chair, leaving the cook in his shirtsleeves. At least the fool wasn't wearing a tie this morning, leaving a deep vee of skin at his neck visible above the top of his apron. Zoro caught a whiff of ash and old smoke and licked his lips suddenly, remembering it as a taste he'd enjoyed, even if only briefly. He frowned, faintly disturbed by the idea.

The dull-gold head turned slightly, enough for him to see the line of a stiffly held jaw and a hint of scruffy chin but that was it. "Eh? Aren't you supposed to be on watch, seaweed-head?"

He sneered back, musings forgotten in a wash of familiar irritation, and stalked over to the table to pull out a chair with a loud scrape. "Merry knows where to go and the sea's the same as it was yesterday," he said as he plopped down into the seat, one arm braced on the tabletop. "Coffee. Now. And a big helping of whatever frou-frou thing that is you're making this time, too."

He got a brief glimpse of one dangerously narrowed eye for that, but, rather than turning and snarling an obscenity at him as he expected, the stupid chef just turned back to his bowls again in silence and, tiny knife in hand, went back to his work. Peeling apples. And ignoring him utterly.

That was definitely not right. He blinked at the stiff back in irritation, pretty much uninterested in trying to accommodate someone else's mood, but less the cook's. Hell, he barely bothered to pay attention, most times. However a cold shoulder was bordering on insult, which, without the idiot witnessing some perceived insult to a woman first, was just not like the cook at all.

After a moment of heavy silence, he heard, "Apple turnovers with cinnamon glaze."

"Huh?"

"That's today's breakfast pastry. And they aren't ready yet." There was a disgruntled sniff from the other man that was almost normal in its intensity. "And you know where the pot is; get your own damn coffee."

His traitorous stomach made a loud gurgle. Apple turnovers sounded plain and simple and like something he might actually eat if put in front of him, Zoro thought as he glared at the vulnerable spot exactly between the other man's narrow shoulders. Not like the rest of the hopelessly fussy cream-filled and over-decorated stuff the cook had been making lately.

"Oi. What's your problem, stupid cook?"

"I'm busy and you're bothering me." The words were harshly muttered, but that was it. No raging snarl in his face. No answering insults. No deadly feet flying toward his head. The other man's odd behavior was starting to unnerve him a bit.

He shoved away from the table after a moment of sullen silence. Yes, the stupid cook was clearly busy, but, damn it, he practically fell all over himself to serve those silly women all the time no matter what else he was doing...

Zoro approached the stove on bare, nearly silent feet. As he reached for the full pot of coffee, he noted the sharp way the other man flinched when he caught a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye. The apple the idiot was peeling fell into the bowl of scraps with a loud thump. Zoro blinked once in surprise as the cook braced both hands on the counter in front of him, shooting him a dark look.

"What the hell are you sneaking here around for?!" the other man snapped, glittering eyes disappearing behind concealing bangs almost instantly.

Zoro reached calmly for one of the heavy white mugs hanging from the hooks on the wall beside the sink. "I'm not sneaking anywhere, I'm getting my own damn coffee like you said, idiot," he shot back with a snarl, faintly relieved. That was more like it. Not that he missed the bastard's pissing and moaning about manners and politeness, no, not at all. But Sanji snapping at him was better than Sanji giving him that oddly silent treatment, anyway. The blood began to move faster in his veins, his thoughts sharpening a bit. And he realized fully then that the other man actually had been avoiding him. Because of...

He filled his mug from the pot, took a big gulp of the hot beverage, then topped off his cup again. Paid covert attention to the fact that it took the cook a few seconds to pick up the apple again to start peeling it. And that when he did, his motions were oddly deliberate and stiff and completely lacking their usual easy competence. Zoro frowned into his brimming mug and set the pot down with a deliberate clang on the stove.

This time the cook just ignored him outright. Even when he turned around and leaned back against the counter, mug in hand, and drank his coffee right there, gaze fixed on the idiot's every move, the cook didn't say a word. Something really wasn't right.

"What's wrong with you?" he finally asked, mouth twisted into a frown again.

The skinless apple was deftly sliced before he got an answer. "I'm busy is what's wrong. You've got your coffee; if you're not helping you're in the way, shithead." A quick, hot glare pierced him. "So get out."

Snorting, Zoro glanced at the sink beside him. There were half a dozen dishes in there from what had obviously been a mid-watch galley raid by Luffy or Usopp... or maybe both. He'd seen Sanji in his domain for long enough now to know the cook cleaned up behind himself as he went to reduce clutter and to keep his tools handy; besides it was just good sea-going discipline. After meals, one of the rest of them usually took turns helping him clean up the rest of the dishes.

Zoro set down his mug, found the plug for the sink drain and began to fill the basin with hot water. Added some soap and waited for the sink to fill in stony silence, pointedly ignoring the cook in return. After only a short hesitation, the idiot seemed content to go back to his own work too. Peeling. Slicing. As he scrubbed plates, Zoro stole glances at the other man from the corner of his eye, noting that the lean arms beneath the rolled up sleeves of the dress shirt began to move with more grace as the silence stretched. Moving on to forming dough. Mixing some kind of thin sugary sauce out of what looked like almost nothing. Shaking powders or spices or some-such over the apple mix he was heating on the stove until a rich, fruity aroma began to overpower the lingering coffee smell.

The scent was mouth-watering. Like everything the cook made. Not that he'd tell the conceited bastard that, however…

He swallowed the excess saliva pooling in his mouth surreptitiously. But then his stomach growled loudly despite the fact that it was clear whatever the cook was working on wasn't ready yet. And so he concentrated on scrubbing harder at some kind of crust built up on one of the butter knives instead, glaring at it as he tried not to drool too obviously over the enticing smells now filling the room. What the hell did Luffy do with the damn things? Use them to spread tar on rope? He frowned and scrubbed harder as his stomach growled demandingly again.

"Here..." he heard as there was a flicker of motion beside him. His hand flashed out of the water and automatically caught the wrist that was lifting a large wooden spoon toward his face.

He glanced to the side. Caught sight of the cook's defiant, sneering expression half hidden beneath heavy bangs and frowned. Sanji would feed anyone – even his most mortal enemy, Zoro knew – if they were in need. But sea-bright eyes were meeting his gaze at last. And there was something there... simmering anger... disdain... a hint of shame...?

"It's the filling," Sanji said sharply, his gaze narrowing, "not poison. Eat it. There'll be more ready soon."

Tantalizing scents were coming from the spoon under his nose, making his mouth water more and his stomach cramp eagerly. Apple. Cinnamon. But there was something else there too that was richer and earthier that he didn't associate with food.

He turned his head slowly toward the spoon, his gaze not shifting away from the cook's in the slightest. Opened his lips then, and, using his grip on Sanji's wrist, carefully guided the spoon inside his mouth. Faintly spicy, tart and not too sweet; the delicious flavors of the apple mixture exploded on his tongue right from the first lick. He swallowed the meager spoonful eagerly, then closed his lips around the utensil itself and sucked it clean.

"Hmm. Not bad," he said, licking the last of the flavor from the corner of his mouth with a quick tongue. Sanji's expression was cool and unreadable, with a faint hint of menace. Just as if he were about to go into battle. Zoro smiled back in the same way automatically. Cold and shark-like. "Thanks for the bite. Still hungry, 'tho."

The wrist in his grip tried to turn and pull back, but he wouldn't release it. A dangerous glitter started in the other man's eyes, the wooden spoon hovering between them at a point not nearly far enough from his nose. He knew Sanji didn't fight with his hands, and considered his kitchen tools as nearly sacred, still...

"How many women did you really have in Whiskey Peak?" he demanded of the cook roughly. Stormy eyes narrowed dangerously. He was sure he already knew the answer, but for some reason he wanted to hear the other man say the words. Sanji snarled and tried to twist his arm away in earnest then, expression bitter, mouth uncharacteristically sealed.

Patience snapping, Zoro turned, hauling the other man close with a quick yank to pin him between his own body and the counter before either incredibly flexible leg could shoot up and deal him a brain-rattling blow. The wooden spoon clattered down noisily on the counter beside them, unimportant, forgotten, as Zoro yanked the arm that had held it up high and leaned into the trapped man hard.

Hair whipped across his face – so close – stinging his eyes as Sanji struggled. He heard hissed sounds of irritation, grunts of effort, but couldn't be certain from which of them any came as Sanji's lean body twisted and an elbow caught him sharply in the ribs. He clamped one iron-tense arm around both the free arm and the other's chest and squeezed, trapping the other man completely then, hip to hip.

Instant stillness.

He waited. Watching. Breath was coming far too quickly for the both of them from just that simple flurry of movement, he knew. The blood was already pumping hard in his veins, his nerves quivering and primed for action, yet his thoughts seemed oddly clouded.

"You're too damn eager to please them – so they use you and walk all over you like a doormat," Zoro murmured near a hidden ear, the other's thick golden hair tickling his lips. He breathed in a combined scent of lemon and cinnamon and smoke that was shockingly familiar. His head swam slightly in response, startling him into adding, "You'll never get any tail that way, you know…"

Which was a mistake if he'd been hoping to calm the other man down… but then he wasn't entirely sure he had been hoping for that as the lean body strained against his again in outrage.

"Talk more respectfully, you asshole!" Predictably enough, Sanji bristled like an angry cat, but added force to the demand by lifting a knee up fast. Only a quick twist of his hips and a lift of his own knee saved his nuts from critical damage; as it was he'd probably have a bruise on his thigh from the strength of the blow. All right then. So much for backing off. Zoro bared his teeth in reply and twisted the wrist he'd captured up high behind the other man's back, after first kicking the deadly feet wide and then stepping between the other man's thighs. A wholly defensive precaution, of course. He leaned into him hard, hip to gut, feeling the answering ripple of tense muscle against him as Sanji let out a pained wuffing sound and tried to twist himself sideways to relieve the pressure on his arm, furious glare never abating.

"Get offa me, shithead."

Zoro made an impatient sound, ignoring the darkly muttered order. "Baratie had an all-male crew; Zeff was old-school and sailed the Grand Line with only men aboard. So don't tell me you don't understand the facts of life aboard ship, sea cook."

Sanji's mouth thinned and his eyes narrowed to scornful slits but he made no denial. Hm. Apparently he did understand, but just didn't like to hear it from him. "Bastard. That's no excuse to be ill-mannered! Get out of my galley before I kick some proper conduct into that muscle-bound head of yours!"

Zoro's own sharp grin didn't abate. "But I'm still hungry, dumb cook. Aren't you going to feed me?"

Sanji's glare actually flickered for a moment. And for that same half a second Zoro almost felt guilty about using the other man's principles against him, but his respect for the startling strength in the lean, rope-like muscles of the body trapped against his and the throb of the new bruise on his thigh dispelled the feeling almost instantly. But it was only a flicker, soon lost to wary suspicion.

"I can't cook like this," the other man announced, gaze cold.

Zoro's smile was sharp and blatant. "Oi, I wasn't talking about food, dumbass..."

The struggle was short and vicious, but he held on grimly until the other finally subsided, hissing angrily over how far Zoro had shoved his arm up his back and that he better not break it. Zoro smirked, satisfied. In leg strength it might be debatable, but in sheer upper body power he had the cook beat cold. He did have a few new bruises on his shins to show for the victory, of course, but it was the cook who was stuck, and sucking in air and gasping as if he'd been drowning.

"What's your problem anyway?" Zoro snapped at his captive. "It's a bodily need; like eating or sleeping or taking a piss. You deal with it and go on. No mess. No fuss."

"Yeah? Ever think of asking first? And what the fuck is this grabby shit all about?! Get the hell away from me, asshole!" Sanji snarled, arm twisting wildly in Zoro's grasp again. He still didn't break the hold, of course, but Zoro had to lean in harder than he liked, this time bending Sanji's spine back dangerously against the raised edge of the counter. The other man didn't protest or whine over what had to be a particularly painful position, but just glared at him furiously instead, teeth bared. Stupid, stubborn bastard.

"I didn't want to get kicked in the face before breakfast, you idiot cook," he spat as if it were obvious, frown deepening as he eased his hold a bit, testing. Trying to take most of the pressure off without losing control. "It's damn hard to chew with loosened teeth you know!"

"Oh, I'd make sure you could still eat -- through a straw," Sanji said through gritted teeth of his own as he straightened up as much as Zoro would allow, then smiled. But the way his lips pulled back from his teeth was more a gruesome parody than a smile. Kind of frightening, even, in a way, Zoro supposed. "Let go, you stupid muscle-head shit-for-brains!" Spitting fire and venom again, he was, eyes flashing, bangs flying, the curl of his brow somehow dire. More like the Sanji he expected; skilled, dangerous, determined -- the lean body twisted like an eel in his arms and Zoro smiled as he felt the blood rush faster in his own veins as he actually had to work to keep him captive – and strong too.

"Heh, well, then I suppose I might as well do this first…" Zoro said, bending down and fastening his mouth to the soft dip of skin beneath Sanji's ear.

After a strangled yelp, Sanji went stiff with shock against him as he sucked gently on the patch of smooth flesh he had claimed. Silence reigned, so he let his tongue dart out for a quick taste.

"Hm... not quite what I remember you tasting like..." he murmured, pulling back just enough so his breath washed over damp skin. "But maybe that was the rum, eh?"

Sanji just shuddered and twisted his head away, inadvertently giving him better access to the long, clean line of his neck. Ah, so the stubble on the chin was the only part he didn't shave, huh? Because the rest of his face and jaw was smooth and sleek and smelled ever so slightly of lemons. Some kind of fancy shaving soap, no doubt. He licked the underside of Sanji's jaw experimentally, searching for the flavor of lemon, but instead got mostly smoke and salt and skin. Which wasn't at all bad.

He felt Sanji swallow hard, the motion making his throat bob. "You shitty swordsman… w-what the hell do you think you're doing?!"

He smiled against the other man's neck, nose already burrowing inside the crisp edge of a shirt collar, his lips seeking fresh skin. The silly thing was in the way he thought irritably, so stiff and annoying. The bastard actually starched his collars. And he even ironed those shirts himself, the damn dandy, every night before he went to bed too, Zoro knew, and it had freaked him the hell out at first, but, over time, it had become just a Sanji kind of thing to do. Ironing. Kind of like Usopp's seemingly endless tinkering with his bag of tricks or Luffy's obsession with getting his straw hat repaired at the first sign of damage. Hm. He supposed he might have some irritating habit of his own like those as well... but he couldn't think what it might be.

"Just scratching an itch," he answered at last.

"Whaaa?!" Sanji's squirming and jerking around increased. Rubbing their chests and thighs together even more. It was kind of nice – at least until a bony knee somehow slipped inside his guard and almost grazed his nuts again. Zoro tightened his grip until the other man grunted, which earned him a hissed, "Can't you just wait until we hit port and you can go find yourself a woman, damn you!?"

"I don't wanna do this with a woman, crappy cook," Zoro said through partially gritted teeth as he hitched his hips harder against Sanji's and spread his own feet wider, making certain to press the other man's legs wider too. Putting him off balance again and making him throw his head back with a nearly feral snarl. The sight made Zoro smile. "Women are too soft and delicate."

Sanji scowled. "Shit! But that's one of the best parts about them! Idiot swordsman! Don't tell me you haven't even tried?"

"Oh, I have," he said blandly. "It's just too much trouble to worry about bruising them all the time; men are stronger." Most of his attention was focused on the rather intriguing line of Sanji's throat where it led down toward his lean chest; all racing pulse and flushed skin and vibrating tendons. He hadn't had much chance in the cold and the alcohol-blur of that night to explore much, so he was looking forward to it now.

Sanji's head jerked around and widened eyes blinked at him, the face around them blank with shock. He held up a single finger after a moment and Zoro realized he'd worked his other arm free during the time Zoro had been concentrating on tracing the sharp line of collar bone under the edge of his shirt with a curious tongue. Mm. A little spicier down here... "Oi... wait a minute," the cook said, brows drawn together in a frown as he put his palm on Zoro's forehead and pushed hard enough to break his mouth's contact with skin.

Zoro grumbled and looked up at him sidelong in annoyance. "What?"

"Did you just call me strong, asshole?"

Zoro rolled his eyes rather than state the obvious. Of course he thought Sanji was strong. Not as strong as he was, of course, but nobody made it into Straw Hat Luffy's crew without true strength, as they'd all proved over and over already. Zoro snorted in disgust. "Look, idiot, you didn't put up this much fuss before—"

Sanji's glare was nearly as cold as Drum Island's ice-choked sea had been and his free hand was fisted as he pounded it – hard – once against the side of Zoro's head. "We were stone drunk you opportunistic bastard! And… and at sea! But that doesn't mean I'm gonna be the handy bung boy for anyone with an itch aboard – especially you! I prefer women, you moss-haired shithead!"

Shaking off the blow, Zoro grinned wolfishly. "We're at sea now," he pointed out before leaning in close and letting a sneer bend his mouth. "But who said anything about handy? You're a major pain in the ass, you bastard cook." He glared, annoyance growing. His own hand was infinitely better than an unwilling partner but a thousand times less good than a willing one. "But you went and shoved your tongue down my throat – what the hell else was I supposed to think but that you wanted it from me, moron?"

And the cook had shoved said tongue down his throat regardless of the fact that Vivi and Nami had been on the deck above, huddled under a single fur among the silk-draped mikan trees, quietly giggling to each other stories about the ridiculous and fanciful things they saw in the patterns of the stars above. Or maybe, Zoro realized with a surprising amount of irritation, that had been exactly why he'd done it in the first place…

…Not that he cared why the cook had done it or anything, of course. Only that he had. Which meant Zoro was now free to do this.

Zoro frowned harder as Sanji just blinked back at him, paling abruptly behind wildly tumbled hair. The urge to bury his fingers in the thick stuff and grab onto the other man's skull and twist his head back so he could cover that silently working mouth with his own was strong, but he couldn't risk letting go the hold on his middle yet. He'd die before he let the bastard know this either, but those kicks of his hurt.

"I did not." Sanji fairly spat the denial once he got his voice working again, jerking against his hold furiously.

"Did so."

"You're lying!"

"No," Zoro replied flatly.

"Bullshit."

Zoro just growled in annoyance. Sanji's gaze flickered to Zoro's face warily. Then he went utterly still, expression blanking again, eyes going a little glazed as he clearly re-processed certain rum-soaked memories. He frowned after a moment and fixed Zoro with a suspicious look. "Shit. I started it? Really?"

"You know I'm no Usopp; yes, you did." Zoro's gaze narrowed dangerously at the other man's dubious expression and felt his sneer start to edge toward a snarl. His patience was nearing its limit. He shifted his grip on Sanji's pinioned wrist, dragging it down to the man's side, shifting his other arm up until his palm lay flat between those sharp shoulder blades. He could feel the beat of the other man's heart through his back, quick and heavy and vaguely panicked. Sanji looked away, toward the far side of the room again, a frowning, oddly focused look on his face, thoughts obviously churning in his head. Zoro let his fingers stroke the faintly knobby ridge of the other man's spine gently through crisp cotton before allowing them to slowly drift up until they teased at the base of his skull, just beneath the ends of that thick, old-gold hair.

Despite his growing impatience with the other man's continued silence and the near-molten need heating his veins, he forced himself to wait. He'd not seriously considered Sanji as a potential partner before that night, but the man's actions had quickly changed his mind. And willing help was so much better than jerking off alone, he reminded himself again. So much better.

"Damn," Sanji muttered at last, sounding more disgruntled than angry now. "After I danced with Vivi-chan, we were arguing, weren't we? That had to be it... stupid rum – give me a good Bordeaux any day..."

Triumph flickered through him, hot and deep, stronger than the irritation over hearing another's name – especially a woman's – mentioned now. "Yeah." Zoro made a sound low in his throat. Leaned in and opened his mouth against the point of Sanji's jaw next to his ear. "And I was winning too," he murmured, licking skin again.

"Of course you weren't! I just got sick of your braying, you ass!" A shudder went through the other man as his chin jerked higher giving Zoro better access, in complete counter to his combative tone. Which might have been annoying if Zoro wasn't so focused on the heavy pulse he found pounding under his tongue. He forgot about arguing completely then when the hand that had been fisted on his shoulder lifted up and clamped onto the back of his head, pressing him closer. A sure sign the other was finally giving in. He didn't hesitate, lips moving eagerly, breath coming rough. Strong fingers kneaded back there, making his scalp tingle as he let his mouth move up the taut line of Sanji's neck yet again.

"Obviously I had to shut you up," Sanji continued in a more hushed tone, shifting against him in a way that had Zoro's own throbbing pulse lurching faster. "You have no manners around the ladies…" Lean hips flattened against the counter behind at his urging. Hard thighs relaxed and spread wider at the slow upward thrust of his hips, heavy and firm. His pulse leaped. Teeth scraped hungrily along an angular jawbone, nipped lightly at the flushed skin covering it. "Dumbass," Sanji gasped even as Zoro lurched up and covered his mouth.

Hard and deep he probed, pleased when Sanji probed back just as hard; their tongues tangled, slick and wild and stabbing, neither willing to give way. Damp heat built and ran, and he swallowed hard, tasting coffee and old ashes and his own need. The hand on the back of his head fisted painfully in his short hair. Pushed him closer. He ate at the smoke-tinted breath like a starving man and gulped down the answering low groans like water.

The cook's body was all hard angles and sinew, taut muscle and tension against him. Just the way he liked it; rife with challenge and threat. But he wanted more. Dragging the still-trapped wrist he held forward, he shifted his hips again, rolling in once more until he felt the twitch of Sanji's fingers against the hard ridge in his pants.

He pressed harder, filling the other man's mouth with his own as he rubbed Sanji's hand over him. From root to tip. Long and slow. But the nimble fingers stayed lax, frustrating him. Coming up reluctantly for air, he shifted them both about to the sound of grunts and soft gasps until he had the cook's hand pressed over him completely.

"Stroke it right, cook," he growled, aching.

"Let go of me first." They glared at each other for a long moment, his spit glistening on the other man's lips.

"All right," he said at last, mouth curling into a sneer in response to the challenging glitter of half-hidden eyes. Zoro let go of both his arms, letting his own hands drop to the counter beside narrow hips as he shifted his weight back.

The cook could probably get one of those damned limber legs up now and clock him a good one, if he were still serious about it, Zoro knew. But he took that half step back anyway. Risking it.

Sanji's head tipped down, glittering eye disappearing behind heavy bangs again as a smirk curled those faintly reddened lips. "Trusting one, aren't you?" And he almost stepped forward again, anticipating the need to block, but froze as long fingers curled firmly around the shaft of his hot and throbbing cock right through the front of his pants.

"Oh, shit..." he groaned, eyes practically rolling back in his head, fingers gripping the raised edge of the counter tight until wood creaked. It was good. Perfect pressure, nearly perfect grip. Long, slow, firm strokes, the way he liked it best. The only problem was the barrier of his pants, dulling sensation, keeping them from full contact. Which might have been a good thing, seeing as how eagerly his body responded to the other's touch even with the extra layers between. It really had been too long since anyone other than himself had touched him like this – one drunken night excluded. Truthfully, he barely remembered it. But now, he shuddered and gasped through clenched teeth, eyes pressed shut, head bent forward, hips pulsing in steady time with the strokes.

"Hn. You're easy too." There was triumph and no little amusement in the cook's voice.

"Shut up," he growled, not opening his eyes or making any attempt to still the rolling of his hips with each heady stroke. It felt too good to stop.

His hands shifted to the cook's lean hips, fingers curling around tightly, digging in. The warmth. The motion. Each stroke of the cook's hand built the fire, the frustrated need inside of him higher. For a few moments longer it was bliss, but then it became too little. His pants too much in the way. He wanted skin on skin. His breath whistled faintly. Lips baring teeth, body tensing. He needed more; more heat, more pressure, more of that strong, sure touch. And he needed it now.

"Table?" he said through clenched teeth, glancing at the cook from the corners of narrowed eyes.

He found a half smug, half amused smile on the other's face that made a small part of him bristle; the rest was too full of aching need to care. "There's the flour sacks..." The hand that had been stroking him lifted up to wave carelessly toward the far side of the room. The loss of contact made him growl.

"Too far."

In a flash, he had a hand behind the other's neck, bracing it as he dropped down to his knees on the floor right there in front of the sink, an arm clamped tight around lean hips dragging Sanji down with him. There was the hard clatter of shoes against the floor, an echoing thump from an elbow against the front of a cabinet then a startled sound from the other man, cut off with a hiss as he landed flat on his back on the floor, Zoro above him.

"Hey! Careful...!" He found the opened mouth and closed it with his own. Hot and slick and clever. Tongues and breath clashing as he held Sanji's head still with both hands, one splayed behind his neck, one threaded tight into that thick golden hair. Tasting. Devouring. Plundering relentlessly. He crouched, one thigh thrust between Sanji's, elbows holding him up, shoulders rounding as his focus narrowed to the mouth beneath his own.

It was even better now that Sanji was kissing him back. All motion and glide and urgency.

He broke away only when a hand pushed insistently against his shoulder. Looking down, he found a flush-faced and nearly unrecognizable cook; throat just beginning to dampen with sweat, swollen mouth open wide to gasp for breath, eyes half-lidded and darkened.

"This time I'll make sure to fuck you," Zoro said without thinking, voice hoarse, mind spinning with lust. Flexed the hand in the other's hair slightly before releasing his grasp. Reached over with a rough thumb to smooth it across that outrageously curled brow.

The darkened eyes fluttered wide for a moment, then closed again, crinkling above a brittle smile.

"Like hell," the cook said pleasantly and threw him half way across the galley.

He cleared the table with ease, biting back a roar of outrage as he flew. Managed to twist himself to land hard and without a crash on the floor beyond, rolling neatly and bouncing up to one knee and a foot just before he would have smashed into the pile of supplies against the back wall. Found himself still outwardly calm despite the mingled fury and frustrated desire raging deep inside of him. Sanji was on his feet again too, glaring across the room at him with a particularly feral smile on his face. Zoro matched that smile as he straightened up slowly, never taking his attention from the deceitfully smiling cook.

"Not on the second date, shit-head," Sanji said in a falsely honeyed tone, tipping his head to the side slightly as he kept his gaze fixed on Zoro. "Oh my, and you haven't even taken me out for wine and dinner yet... one that I didn't cook myself, that is. What a crappy, cheap-ass date you are."

"Quit being an idiot."

Sanji's smile went ice-like. "Just don't want you thinking you can make this he-man method some kind of a habit or anything, swords-for-brains."

"Like I'd bother if you're going to make it this much work every time," he muttered sourly. But that was a blatant lie. The blood was throbbing even harder in his veins now, making his cock and throat and ears pound with the eager heat of it. He took the opportunity to strip the bandana off his arm, then his shirt, flinging them both aside carelessly. Watched carefully until the cook matched him by untying the strings of his apron, slipping it off over his head, but then folding it neatly before setting it down on the counter beside him. Uhn. Surprisingly hot, that neatness. If he wasn't mistaken, a button or two on the pin-striped blue shirt had come undone in the process too.

Zoro eagerly caught the gaze that lifted to meet his then. Found it hot and dangerous and just as needy as his own. The other man wet his lips with a quick swipe of a pale pink tongue, hair tumbling over his face.

"Who knows? And there are plenty of other things to do instead, you know," Sanji said, and reached back to flick the stove burner off. Always the cook, Zoro noted with absent admiration, a master fully aware of the state of his craft. He watched the other man closely, eyes narrowed. "Eh, the dough could stand to sit anyway," the cook continued with a small shrug, stepping around the end of the table toward him before starting to toe off his shoes.

Only then did Zoro move; in a modified drawing form, executed faster than a normal eye could follow to reach and grab. Sanji let out a sharp sound of irritation, flailing inelegantly away and trying to recover his footing caught with one shoe half off. But failing as Zoro's hand caught in his belt and yanked him forward.

The shoe flew across the cabin, hitting the far wall with a relatively harmless thump. He grinned wide as the lean body fell into his arms again, Sanji hissing and spitting with fury. He caught the knee rising toward his groin this time, forcing the leg up the outside of his thigh instead, hand spreading wide and curving around the taut underside of that powerful thigh and trapping it against his hip.

"We'll just have to see how it goes then," Zoro murmured as Sanji quivered, catching his balance on one foot neatly, chin up, teeth bared, hands skidding across the bare flesh of Zoro's torso until they reluctantly latched onto his upper arms.

Only when he felt the other man's hands grab onto him did he shift his other hand out of the belt and around the cook's lean waist, drawing them fully together again, holding him immobile from the hips down. Mostly immobile... damn the wiry idiot, Zoro thought with a wince as bare toes were mashed under the still remaining shoe's sole. But the lean hips moved against his at the motion in a most interesting way.

"Moron! Bastard! Asshole!" the irate cook spat at him. Eyes flashing heat. Fingertips digging into his shoulder and neck muscles cruelly. It only made him want the annoying bastard more, of course. His grip tightened on the captured thigh, making sure to keep the cook slightly off-balance.

"Tease," Zoro murmured before tilting his head to the side and sealing his mouth over Sanji's again. Hard and fast and wet. Uncaring if there was more than a hint of teeth in the ensuing duel of tongues. He wanted to laugh in triumph but instead it became a growl, deep in his chest, as need and longing built.

His hand fisted in blue fabric, tugged shirt from low-slung pants with impatient jerks. Sanji twisted in his grasp, hands shoving at his shoulders as the cook tried to put distance between them. Zoro let him, mouths coming apart with a wet pop. He grinned as worked his hand under the untucked shirt to find warm skin. Sanji's back was smooth and hard, with just a downy-soft dusting of hair in the small of it. He followed the tight, rounded swell of butt on the side with the leg still on the ground downwards, fingers probing beneath the waistband of Sanji's pants toward the seam of his ass eagerly.

Sanji twitched violently, then reached up with both hands and grabbed his face, wrenching it up to glare into his eyes. He had to blink more than once to bring the other man into focus, his attention still caught by other… things. Like the way muscle rippled in the firm globe beneath his hand.

Sanji was glaring, teeth clenched as hard as his butt. "Oi! I said I'm not interested in being your bottom!"

"Yes you are."

"Like hell!"

Zoro kissed him to shut him up, using lots of tongue in the process, disappointed that his hand was having problems probing deeper beneath the snug pants. Damn belt was in the way. But the hard curve of ass in his palm felt almost good enough to mollify him. For the moment. He gave it a squeeze and rocked Sanji's hips sharply against his own, swallowing the outraged squawk gleefully.

Lying cook. He was hard as a rock under there.

Sanji twisted his mouth away, panting fiercely even as Zoro yanked his hand out the back of his pants to free more shirt instead. Hard fingers still gripped his jaw, this time keeping him from following and catching Sanji's mouth again.

"Well I'm not being on the bottom next time." Sanji's glare was nearly poisonous now.

He ignored it. Preoccupied by the fact that he'd managed to undo two buttons in a row on the cook's shirt one-handed without ripping either button off. Pale, thinly-muscled chest gleamed beneath as the last button popped free to finally let the shirt dangle loose. "Damn right you aren't," he muttered, pushing the shirt aside and practically drooling as a sand-pale nipple appeared. It was already standing up a little bit, he noticed, just from being exposed to air. But he wondered just how tight he could get it...

His nipple-musings vanished as Sanji wrenched his head back up to gape at him. "Whaaaa?!" The shock and surprise on the cook's face was almost comical.

"Your dick's long enough, isn't it?" Zoro grinned wolfishly, licking his lips. "And I can take it... Why? Can't you?"

Sanji snarled, letting go of his face at last to grab his shoulders again, grip pinching bare skin. "Of course I can, idiot! I can take whatever you dish out!"

"Sur—mmph," Zoro agreed, already bending forward to latch his mouth on that tempting nipple.

He rolled it between his teeth before sucking on it firmly. It got quite hard under his tongue, he noted. Stiff and taut and rounded like a pearl inside its soft circle of flesh. He suckled at it eagerly and was pleased to discover the bonus of an odd, soft keening kind of sound that was emerging from the cook's mouth. One might even call it an eager whimper. If one wanted to get kicked in the head, that is.

But then one of Sanji's hands gripped the back of his head, pressing him closer to the lean chest, while the other skimmed down his bare back to dig under his haramaki, tugging on the knit wrap around his waist urgently.

Ah. That was more like it. More like he remembered Sanji being that night on deck too. Pliant and eager… and silent. He tilted the cook further back by the hold on his thigh, running his hand up behind a lean knee, his mouth still locked on that stiff little nipple, at the same time he snaked his other arm around the cook's lower back for support. He bent easily, his amazing flexibility slipping them both back a little further than Zoro anticipated.

"Asshole, don't dump—!" Sanji gasped right before they fell over in a tangle of limbs and clothing and grunted oaths.

Zoro landed on top, of course, hands braced outside Sanji's shoulders, elbows bent, one of Sanji's thighs caught tight between his own. Flat was good too, he thought with satisfaction. He wanted the freedom to use both hands now anyway. Old-gold colored hair lay scattered on the scarred planking of the deck behind Sanji's head. The sea-bright eyes were snapping with annoyance for the spill, the spiraling eyebrow already lowered ominously. Mildly disappointed that he'd lost his lock on the nipple, Zoro shifted his attention readily enough to the other man's mouth instead, plunging his tongue deep before the cook could get out a single – doubtless scathing – word.

His breath wasn't the best this early in the morning, and he tasted more than a little like the cigarettes he smoked so religiously, but there was still something in the flavor of the cook's mouth that drew him. Zoro licked and sucked and searched deep, trying to define it. Failed at it, for now, but the process seemed to have mellowed the cook at least, who had looped an arm around his neck as he probed and rolled his hips up into Zoro's with renewed eagerness.

Zoro pulled away to gaze down with heavy eyes of his own into the cook's hazy gaze. Sanji's face was flushed and relaxed, one arm thrown loosely above his head to lie against the floor, his lips parted and faintly swollen as he panted softly, waiting.

"Wake up and get your damn belt off already, cook," Zoro demanded, lifting himself up off his hands with a quick shove to tug at his haramaki.

A cloud of irritation darkened the cook's features. He frowned even as he reached down to obey, fingers tugging at the belt and the thin chain that hung from the buckle expertly.

"I guess a real belt's too much for you, eh?"

Zoro snorted from inside the haramaki as he yanked it over his head. His earrings jangled at his pulled it free, glaring down. "Why do you need one anyway when those damn pants of yours are so tight?"

"Because I have style and you don't, troglodyte."

He bared his teeth at the cook warningly. Then tossed the knit tube carelessly aside, letting it land where it would. It caught on the blocked-off steering shaft, hanging there like a banner.

He caught the flicker of Sanji's gaze as it traced down the full length of the scar on his chest, then away. Ignored the small furrow that boomed between curled brows after. Sanji had seen it happen, he remembered suddenly. Seen him humbled by Mihawk. He dropped down on only one hand this time, the other reaching for the cook's hand and lifting it to the waistband of his pants.

"You do this," he murmured, catching the other's startled glance.

"Jerk," Sanji said, his voice oddly hoarse. But he added the other hand on his own to the task readily enough, and his hands were steady as they tugged the button free before finding the zipper and drawing it down smoothly. And he only flinched a little bit, eyes going wide for just an instant when Zoro's hard cock popped out immediately, already glistening on the tip. He hardly ever bothered with underclothes. A fundoshi, sometimes. Briefs if they were in a town with a good laundry for a while. Mostly he wore nothing beneath his heavy pants. Which gave him less to worry about when he was in a hurry. Like right now.

He hissed in a short breath, watching as Sanji finished lowering the zipper slowly, taking extra care not to scrape sensitive flesh. Then he held the fly of Zoro's pants open wide, reaching inside the gap to slip his hand right down the length of his cock and cup his balls with faintly cool but sure fingers.

"Damn," Sanji said softly, his mouth curving wryly as his heavy gaze flicked up once. "It really is seaweed green everywhere."

Ignoring the familiar snipe at his hair color, Zoro threw his head back and groaned. Hips pushing forward instinctively as Sanji proceeded to explore him with exquisite care. Lifted the sac. Stroked the soft - yes, green, damn it - fuzz that sprinkled it. Rolled each nut, one after the other, gently between long fingers. Then fingertips traced the crinkling line of flesh down the backside of the sac to the smooth flesh behind. Teased at the sweat-slick hole behind, but didn't press.

Zoro groaned again, biting the sound off sharply this time; suddenly aware that his arm was trembling, his pulse was throbbing in his ears nearly loud enough to deafen him, and his deliberately neglected – except for the occasional frustrating brush of wrist – cock was drooling pre-come all over Sanji's still-clothed thigh.

"You are a fucking tease," Zoro hissed between clenched teeth and opened his eyes to glare down at the cook just as he felt him shift beneath him. And Sanji was sliding down, unbuttoned shirt bunching under his arms, unheeded. Wiggling himself across the floor in such an intent, distinctive way that Zoro had to lift his knee out from between Sanji's legs to give him room, straddling him instead.

He watched, struck dumb, as the cook's hand moved up to find the base of his cock. Encircled it firmly. Held it down against the instinctive jerk it made upwards as he opened his mouth over the swollen, wet tip and sucked it inside.

Zoro's mind blanked. Hot, silky, damp; sensation overwhelmed him. Mind only barely comprehending the reality that it was Sanji's mouth around him. Slow, thick, perfect stroke of tongue against the throbbing vein beneath. The pulse of lips around the skin of the shaft, tight, yet not too tight. Slipping down. Taking him deeper. A bad angle, like this, as Sanji couldn't quite take him all in. But it was enough. He fisted a hand in Sanji's hair without even thinking about it. Held on tight. Felt the slow bobbing of head and neck begin. Heard the small grunts of effort, the soft gasps for breath, the wet sucking sounds. Felt the incredible stroke and glide from mid-point to head in every fiber of his being.

Holy hell, it felt good.

He curled forward, body trembling, air rasping in his lungs as he struggled not to shove forward and choke the cook. A hand groped for and found his hip. Then it was Sanji's fingers flexing on his skin, hot and strong as they urged him forward, deeper. Until the head of his cock was striking the back of Sanji's throat and he heard a sharp gagging sound that made him freeze for a moment with only the head inside Sanji's lips to let him catch his breath, control the reflex.

But Sanji would have none of it. Flattening his hand and sliding it around to press forward on Zoro's ass. Swallowing, sucking at the flaring cock head and swollen shaft that were already so hard in his mouth. Urging him deeper. Throat relaxing, head tipping back as he slid even further downwards until his chin finally struck the crotch of Zoro's half undone pants.

Zoro threw himself forward, to better the angle, bracing himself on folded arms, ass high in the air. His half-lidded gaze riveted on the sight of his cock sliding slow and sure between the cook's reddened, glistening lips. Devouring the sight of tears trickling down into golden hair from the cook's closed eyes to dampen his temples, a flow of moisture triggered by the obstruction of throat and breath caused by Zoro's cock.

His cock. Filling up Sanji's foul mouth. Oh, so good.

And still there was more tongue swirling around. And more pressure from throat and mouth and lip that made Zoro groan without hesitation now. Loud and low and deep, the sounds almost shaking the both of them.

The need to come crested sharply, clawing at his belly, clenching his guts. He felt the sensation peak in his balls, in his thighs, and jerked back sharply. Pulling away from Sanji's mouth without caution, so that the other man cried out, gasping, and grabbing after him.

"Wha- where are you…?"

He caught Sanji's wrist before he could touch him. Held it away and squeezed it hard as he clutched himself desperately, pinching off the thick vein at the very base of his cock with an unforgiving grip. Ass cheeks clenching tight so that his pants slipped further down his hips. Concentrating on holding it back, determined not to come just yet. Stopped himself – but only barely – from spraying thick streams of come all over the cook's panting face.

Thinking about the very thing he was trying not to do wasn't doing his control any good, however. Silently cursing himself, he bit the inside of his lip, hoping the pain would be distraction enough to keep him under control for the moment. Then the hint of blood filled his mouth, coppery and raw, giving him the edge he needed. Relieved, he panted for breath, letting his head sag down toward his chest a moment.

It had been far, far too long since he'd had this much willing assistance with getting off, after all.

"Not like that," he panted, prying his eyes open to meet the cook's heavy-eyed gaze intently. "Not this time."

Sanji's mouth curled smugly then, his eyes glittering faintly beneath those sagging lids. He licked his lips slowly, deliberately running his tongue all the way around his now-swollen mouth. Zoro watched and cursed under his breath again, fighting the stubborn cock in his hand as it jerked and yearned for that so-welcoming place.

"Why not?" Sanji said, voice thick and amused. "Can't you take it?"

"Shut up, idiot!" But Zoro leaned down and shut his mouth for him, probing the softened depths of Sanji's mouth furiously with his tongue. Tasted blood and himself and Sanji. And then his hands were on the cook's shoulders, dragging the undone shirt off him, jerking it impatiently off over each wrist. And he was dropping down, covering that arching body, that heaving chest with his own. Still plundering that wicked, unexpectedly skilled, infuriating mouth as Sanji's arms came up to encircle his shoulders and back, hands digging into his hair, nails scraping at his skin.

They savaged each other. Lingering blood and pre-come and saliva swallowed eagerly. Rubbing and thrusting against each other like animals, heedless of the pinch and scrape of half-undone pants, the awkward lump of the belt buckle between them. Hands and mouths and bodies entwined. Sanji's little whimpering sounds getting louder and more urgent. His own greedy grunts as well. Soon. Now. Until the need nearly crested again, too quickly.

He stopped. Stayed frozen as he waited for the danger to pass. Stared into dark, unfocused eyes the while, lungs puffing, pulses thundering. Then he was dragging Sanji up, hauling him off the floor almost bodily. Holding one lean arm in a death-grip as the both of them swayed faintly beside the table. Ignoring the loud clatter of Sanji's belt falling out of the last loops at last, but not the sound of his one remaining shoe scraping on the floor. That meant he was still 'armed', in a way. Not that the barefoot kicks weren't devastating enough… he just wasn't in the mood to have to fend off any attack from Sanji right now.

He wanted to fuck him instead. And soon. But not without finding some kind of lotion or oil or something first.

The harsh rasp of their mutually-labored breathing filled the kitchen as Zoro's gaze scanned desperately around for something, anything they could use.

And found it.

"Butter?" he asked, spinning around to pin Sanji with a hungry, if wary, look.

Sanji's utterly dazed expression was both gratifying and infuriating. "What?" he said blankly, running a shaking hand back through his disheveled hair so that the outrageous curl of his brow was revealed clearly, stark against his forehead.

"Will you try to kick my head off if I use butter?" Zoro expanded, tugging the cook closer to the table and the small dish sitting on it. Shot him another hard-eyed look. "It's all there is and I have to fuck you now."

Sanji's eyes went wide at his tone, his face flushing slightly. "Only if you use it all—" he said, frowning faintly in mingled confusion and irritation. But Zoro jerked him back into his arms and cut further words off sharply as he kissed him deeply again.

Then he was pressing Sanji back over the table, on the empty end, half-lifting him up until he was laying on his back on the well-worn surface, bare-chested, his one shod foot braced on the closest chair, long legs draped wantonly over the edge of the high table. But he didn't stop to admire the view, instead Zoro's hands were already busy on the snap of those infuriatingly-in-the-way pants, then yanking recklessly down on the zipper. He gave an annoyed snarl as he drew them open and his fear that Sanji did indeed wear boxers was confirmed. It meant a further delay, even with Sanji twisting helpfully as he dragged at the damn tight things, getting them down the long thighs at last and all the way off one leg. But they hung up on the other one with the shoe, dangling there annoyingly.

"Leave it," Sanji hissed impatiently, dragging at his own boxers. White with red hearts. It figured. But they were stained and damp in the front now. Zoro growled at the sight, pleased, gaze greedy as his rough hands helped bare Sanji at last. Then they froze at the other man mid-thigh, clenching in the fabric of the formerly obscuring boxers as he took a moment to look his fill.

Sanji had a long, sleek, elegant cock nestled in a bed of dark golden hair between the steep dip of narrow hips marked by sharp ridges of bone above. Deep red at the tip, flushed but pale skin below highlighting the thick ridge of a vein along the bottom; without bend or twist or scar. Just the pure clean arc of a fully erect cock, bouncing off a hard belly and drooling a gratifying amount of pre-come from the tip. Tight balls drawn up beneath dusted with pale hair, shadowed depths not yet visible between hard thighs.

He couldn't help but stare. And drool.

"What?" Sanji said gruffly, his gaze hooded and wary above flushed cheeks when Zoro glanced up at him.

"Nice," was all he said, yanking at the boxers impatiently again, barely getting the one side over the knee Sanji obligingly raised before his hands were back up cupping those sharp hip bones in his palms, thumbs stroking the softer skin in toward Sanji's groin in a soothing, yet distinctly possessive, way. Was dimly aware that the cook had had no snappy comeback to his comment for once. He let his thumbs stroke close, but not touching Sanji's cock. Just looking.

Sanji's cock twitched under that gaze, bouncing hard against his quivering stomach, and he whimpered low in his throat again, biting at his lip before reaching up to cup a hand behind Zoro's head, fingers threading deep in the shortest hair. The other hand he bent up over his head to grab the far edge of the table.

"You do know what you're doing, right?" Sanji said at last, voice a throaty murmur that made Zoro want to bite at his neck. But the angle was all wrong. He had to content himself with a narrow glare instead.

"Of course I do, asshole," Zoro replied with a growl, reaching out to snag the butter dish and knocking the lid off the shallow bowl with a clatter. Aware that Sanji was snickering at him somehow as he scooped two fingers through the soft stuff that had been left out on the table all night.

But all amusement vanished from the other man's expression when he hastily hooked an arm under a long thigh and lifted it up to his shoulder, butter-laden fingers already sliding over the seam of Sanji's body below, one goal in mind.

"Shit!" Sanji gasped, throwing his head back and into his upraised arm, mouth working noiselessly after that as Zoro circled his hole with greasy-slick fingers.

"Damn I hope not," Zoro muttered, briefly glancing down as he pressed with both fingers against the pucker. Feeling it flutter for a moment, clench tight, then yield to him in a sleek, blissful surge.

Sanji groaned deep. Bit at his own arm frantically. Maybe to stifle louder cries. Zoro leaned forward eagerly, pressing his chest and thundering heart against the back of the upraised thigh. Feeling the annoying scrape of the pants that dangled, caught on the shoe Sanji still wore, against his back, but noticing only in that first instant. Then his concentration narrowed down to the tight ring of flesh clenching around his greasy fingers and the silken heat inside Sanji. He twisted his fingers once, twice, making sure the whole area was good and covered, then slowly pulled his hand free.

Sanji shuddered and groaned, arching up, the table creaking as he dragged against the far edge.

Zoro's greasy hand found his own cock. Slicked the remaining butter over it quickly with just a few strokes, impatient fingers dragging his own pants lower down his hips until they were out of the way, and then he was leaning forward again, guiding the purpled head to the glistening, quivering hole nestled perfectly between tightly rounded butt cheeks.

He held it there a moment, watching Sanji's jaw clench, his throat work hard, then he started to press slowly, relentlessly against the guardian ring of muscle. So much larger than even his two fingers, his cock. So tender a place to put it. But he wanted in there. And Sanji wanted him there too, or he'd already have a foot in his face and the back of his head would be bouncing off the far wall of the galley.

The first part was the hardest. He was so tight. Sanji flinched more than once as he carefully worked the head in; pulsing his hips in tiny waves, leaning over a little bit more each time, putting more of his weight behind each gentle thrust until it finally popped inside.

Sanji's eyes were closed, jaw lifted high, his hand straining against the far side of the table as Zoro finished filling him completely in one long, slick slide. Driving in all the way to the root. And it felt so good. Hot and tight and incredible. He had to hold still for a moment or come on the spot, breath whistling hard through clenched teeth. Hell if he'd finish before the cook did, he vowed. Not now that he was finally inside him. The leg he was holding quivered and shook against him. He turned and pressed his mouth to the pale, sweat-damp skin, letting his hot breath warm it.

"B-bastard," Sanji croaked after a handful of heavy heartbeats had passed. "You're fuckin' huge…"

"You sucked it," Zoro said smugly, nipping at his upraised leg again, hand wrapping over the side of the table to brace himself as he waited. Watching. Boasting aside, he didn't want to hurt Sanji this way. "You shoulda known that already."

"It's different in… in… the other end…" After another few breaths, Sanji's head rolled to the side, his eyes opening to dark, heavy slits, his lip curling slightly. "Move already, you moron," he hissed.

That was all the sign he needed. He started slow. Shifting his footing on the floor to brace himself. Pulling back carefully the first time, watching Sanji's face and throat for signs of real pain, then pushing in harder. Was gratified to hear the cook hiss out a slow breath again, feel him squirm and twitch around him, hear those low, needy sounds come from his throat. Gratified wasn't quite the word for it… Pleased? Overjoyed? Ecstatic? It didn't matter. It was tight, long-sought bliss and all he wanted to do then was move. Encase himself in that slick tension over and over again. Reach deep. Deep enough to make even the stubborn cook admit this was good.

So on the next thrust he added a little grind at the end to work himself deeper. Searching. His pants fell the rest of the way down his legs, suddenly, to pool around his ankles. He ignored them, concentrating on the tight, incredible heat of Sanji around him.

On the third such thrust, there was a low grunt of surprise from Sanji, a sharp inward hiss of breath after, and then the cook came alive in his arms. The other long leg lifting and wrapping around his back, ankle pressing into the middle of his back with shocking strength. The hand on the back of his neck dragging him down relentlessly, pressing him deeper inside the cook's body as he leaned forward in response to the pressure, straining forward until he could feel the surge of Sanji's trapped cock between them and could almost meet that open, gasping mouth. Sanji's hand fell off his neck, raking and grasping over his back, his ribs as it moved down purposefully between them. Sliding down until it wrapped around Sanji's cock, slick and hot, between them, knuckles rubbing hard against Zoro's lower belly. Stroking himself firm and swift, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the air.

And Zoro was rising up, both hands splayed on the tabletop, feet braced as far as they could go, back humped high, hips thrusting harder in response. Hearing the rhythmic wooden creak of the table legs. The harsh slap of flesh on flesh. The panting breaths, gasps, and clipped moans from Sanji beneath him. Heard it all like a spur, a challenge, a triumph all in one.

Lunged forward until he could catch Sanji's mouth with his own and swallow those sounds down, letting them shake him, fill him, push his need up and beyond the point where he could hold it back.

Drove deeper than he had before in a sudden final surge, flesh welded to flesh, holding there, shuddering as his release clawed it's way through him shivering-hot surging blinding deafening driving in shouting down Sanji's throat.

Barely felt the answering arch of the body beneath his as his hips worked in short, desperate strokes afterwards milking out the very the last dregs of his release into that glorious clench; barely felt the legs locking with nearly crushing strength around his ribs, the spurting wet heat against his belly, his chest, that coated the hand frozen between them.

Heart thundering against ribs, lungs searing for air, he dragged his mouth away from Sanji's. Laid his dripping forehead against the pulse racing in the other's throat and gasped for breath. Head spinning slightly, nerves still quaking with the aftermath of release.

"Damn," he managed after an uncounted number of heartbeats. Aware that their pulses were throbbing nearly in sync and that Sanji's hand had slipped out from between their bodies so that it was now only his softening cock between them, still pulsing gently in counterpoint with their already slowing heartbeats. Lean legs had loosened and slid down so they encircled his hips now, relaxing enough to let him slip out of the other man's body with a reluctant hiss. Then holding him steady as he melted down onto the angular body beneath his, tightly-held muscles relaxing in a rush. He heard a soft grunt from Sanji as he adjusted to the weight.

A hand found his head, grabbed it, tugging it into a different position against the other's neck, down into the join of the shoulder. Letting the other get more comfortable, he supposed, blearily. More moments passed as pulses slowed and breathing eased. The urge to sleep, never far from him outside of battle and training, was calling him strongly now. It was a velvet soft, welcoming darkness behind his lids, with relaxed satisfaction already spreading peace throughout his body.

But the hoarse voice in his ear was tight with annoyance. "If you fall asleep on top of me, I swear I'll kill you right now, shitty swordsman. Move."

He blinked his eyes hard, startled. Found himself looking straight at the underside of Sanji's clenched jaw where a pair of small purplish-red marks had bloomed on the still-flushed skin just below. "Eh?" More coherent words failed him.

"Get off already."

"Huh?" He thought he just had. And very nicely indeed. But the fist that clenched in the short hair on the back of his head left no doubt about the other's irritation.

"I've got work to do, asshole. And you're still on watch." The words were accompanied by a sharp tug on his hair that made him hiss with annoyance of his own and lift his head off Sanji's shoulder.

"You always this pissy after sex, stupid cook? C'he. No wonder you don't get much..."

Sanji's glare was glacial, completely at odds with the warm shift of the lean body still trapped beneath Zoro's. Wait. Shift? Yes, that was a leg skimming dangerously high up his back. He rolled himself to the side hastily, lifting an arm and catching the incoming heel in the palm of one hand with a loud smacking sound before it could connect with his head. Damn, but the cook was incredibly flexible. His eyes narrowed speculatively. Hm. He'd definitely have to remember that fact for next time.

"Unlike some muscle-bound idiots in this crew, my duties are daily. And in less than half an hour Luffy's gonna be charging in here looking for his breakfast." The curled eyebrow lifted sardonically then. "You wanna try to explain to him why his breakfast is late while you're lying on top of me... and naked?"

"Hell no!" Zoro blanched, shuddering slightly at the very idea. Let Sanji's heel go and accepted the far less than full strength knock on the side of the head the cook promptly gave him with it as fair punishment.

But the blow didn't stop him from ducking back down briefly and stealing another kiss. Wet and soft and deep. Oddly enough, Sanji didn't shove at him during it, despite his stated urgency.

Zoro pulled away at last, slowly, grinning. Licked his lips as he stared into the cook's half-lidded eyes.

"You know... you're not half bad when you're doing other things with your mouth than talking," he couldn't resist saying. "Moron," Sanji snapped and shoved him off the end of the table. Zoro flailed uselessly in the air for a moment, eyes going wide as he landed on his butt on the floor with a hard thump. "Oi! You bastard!"

But Sanji had shrugged his shirt back onto his shoulders and was already untangling his boxers from around his ankle even as he stretched across the tabletop in a great, long, smooth-skinned arc and snatched up a dishtowel from where it lay at the far end. Used it to wipe himself reasonably clean before pulling his shorts up again. Cursing under his breath about wasted butter and too much come and messes on the table they all ate at as he reached so very casually between his legs to scrub himself dry, frowning darkly the while. The crumpled shirt hung loose over his body, throwing his motions in half-shadow. Hiding all but glimpses of the long lean expanses of bare legs as they twisted so gracefully before they were once more covered by dark slacks.

Zoro's hand fisted on something on the floor beside him as he watched, entranced, his breath noticeably shortening again. The something turned out to be Sanji's discarded belt.

"Er... yours," Zoro said, voice tight, as he held the length of leather up. Sanji dropped the dishtowel on the floor beside Zoro, glittering gaze veiled briefly by old-gold hair as he snatched the belt out of his hands.

"Get dressed, moron." He shoved his cigarette between his lips, then jabbed an angry finger toward Zoro. "You're scrubbing this table before you go." Zoro climbed to his feet, decidedly sticky dish-towel in hand, and dragged his own pants up his legs. Paused a moment to wipe himself as free of butter and come as he could, then shrugged and zipped back up again. Good enough. He could always hit the shower – or the ocean – later on for a better wash anyway.

He heard the scrape and flare of a match. Looked over to see Sanji, with his pants already belted and his shirt tucked in neatly, sitting on the edge of the table lighting a cigarette. He almost looked as if nothing at all had happened – if not for the darkening red marks on his throat and the faint flush lingering high on his cheeks.

Zoro knew he'd have to be ready for a fight when the cook finally discovered he'd marked him, though. He smirked in anticipation, half turning his face to hide it.

Sanji took a deep drag of his cigarette, held it, then tipped his head back and blew the smoke out in a long, contented stream, the blissful look on his face vanishing as soon as he shifted his gaze over to Zoro.

"You're not dressed yet?" Sanji scowled. "C'mon, seaweed-head, get moving! I've got work waiting here."

"Oi! You're having a smoke right now," Zoro sniped, snatching his shirt and bandana off the floor. "Wait two seconds, shitty cook." Yanked his shirt on haphazardly over his head even as he heard Sanji drop his feet down to the floor. He wouldn't put it past the cook to take a shot at him while his vision was obscured.

But the other man just muttered, "Where the hell is my other shoe?"

Zoro snorted through a tangle of fabric, for some reason struggling a bit to find one armhole. "Over by the water barrel."

Sanji passed by him and he felt a light tug on the shirt and suddenly his arm popped through the right spot, his head right after. He frowned thoughtfully after the cook, tying his bandana back around his arm with his teeth before moving to retrieve his haramaki from the steering post.

He was almost out the door when a black-shod foot slammed it closed in front of him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?!" Sanji's lip was curled high above the dangling cigarette and he was tying his apron on again with nonchalant skill when Zoro whipped his head around to glare at him.

Zoro sneered. "It's my watch, remember?"

"Table! You're washing it. Remember?" And Sanji turned away then, the white strings of his apron making a nice X in the middle of his narrow back like a tempting target, but more tempting was the tight shift of his ass in the black slacks bracketed between the folds of white cloth as he walked back toward the stove. Zoro followed him, haramaki still in hand. Stopped when Sanji paused to bend over and light the stove again.

That his hand found the hard lower curve of Sanji's ass and briefly curled around in an appreciative swipe, was purely an accident. So when Sanji jerked up sharply, mouth working in surprise, Zoro just reached past him for the still-soapy sponge lying in the bottom of the sink.

"Oi. You're in my way, cook," Zoro muttered quietly, their gazes locking for a long second. Sanji flushed slightly. Or maybe it was just the sudden heat from the stove.

"Don't think you can make this a habit, shit head," Sanji said, sucking on his cigarette as his eyes narrowed into a warning glare. Zoro jerked his shoulders straight.

"As if, stupid cook."

But the cook's sneered words still rang in his ears as turned to the table; he slopped the wet sponge across the smooth wood with angry force as his blood started to boil.

Idiot. Next time, the cook would have to come to him.

\-- end --


End file.
